


Rolling With the Punches

by Ahziel



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Amnesiac Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon makes an appearance, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Dick learns about bisexuality, M/M, Mildly dubious consent due to memory issues, Rough Sex, Slade Wilson comes to town, Two-Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahziel/pseuds/Ahziel
Summary: Ric — or Gray, Grayson, Richard, Dick, whatever tickles his fancy in the moment — has spent the days since his release from Gotham City Hospital earning a pitiful wage through his job as a taxi driver, participating in underground fighting rings, waking up in unfamiliar places and gambling away his sobriety in bars.Then a stranger comes to the Prodigal Bar and accepts a challenge to a high-stakes game of pool ... with conditions. If Ric wins, he gets all the money in the man's pocket. If the stranger wins?He gets Ric.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After enduring a lot of bitching and moaning in the Nightwing fandom about the whole 'Ric' debacle, I decided to give the comics a shot and read them for myself. Wtf is wrong with you all. Its such a beautiful set-up for porn. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading the Ric arc for yourself (and Travis Moore draws, in my opinion, the goddamn sexiest Dick Grayson that's ever appeared in print), go out and buy it to show some support for Travis.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [here](https://ahzielwrites.tumblr.com/).

Ric blinked, and he was in a bed he didn’t recognize. The blankets were warm and weak morning light diffused through the gauzy curtains. It was obvious he’d been laying there for some time. He listened carefully. Outside the apartment, it was blessedly absent of the standard city noise. Probably in a ritzy uptown apartment, then. 

He closed his eyes in one long blink.

Opened them again.

The stranger’s apartment was gone. He’d come back to himself in the midst of descending a very steep and narrow set of grimy cement stairs. When he threw out his hand for balance, it came away slick with slime from the cracked walls on either side. It clung to his skin when he wiped it off on his pants leg. Behind him, his taxi was parked snug against the curb, and the keys jangled reassuringly in his pocket. So he’d driven himself here, then. 

At least he knew where he’d driven himself _to_ this time. 

The Prodigal Bar: the closest thing to a permanent home he had.

By now, Ric knew the heavy door always stuck a little in the jamb — you had to really plant your shoulder against it and shove to get it open. He stumbled over the threshold and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. Judging by the flush warming his cheeks and pleasant dizziness gently spinning through his head, he’d been hitting the bottle during the most recent gap in his memory. Not surprising. That was mostly what he did now anyways. 

Tonight was a small crowd — just the regulars and a few unfamiliar faces. Prodigal was a hole-in-the wall establishment, but at least it was clean, and located far enough into the city slums that the Blüdhaven University kids didn’t venture out for late night drinks.

“Ric,” Bea acknowledged from behind the counter. She was dressed in a tight purple t-shirt that swooped appealingly low under her collarbones. When she leaned forward to rest her forearms on the counter, her breasts pushed together into an attractive line of cleavage. “Got money this time?”

Ric smiled and gave her a salute while rooting around in his pockets. Last time he checked, he’d been flat broke — worse than flat broke, really, since he lived out of his taxi — but sometimes he came out of his memory blanks and found all sorts of odd bits and bobbles tucked away in his pockets. Pieces of thread. Grimy coins and rumpled bills. Buttons. A lockpick. Bottle caps. A singular glove. Once, a pocketknife, which he now kept in the glovebox of his taxi. The random nature of the items didn’t bother him — in a way, it was almost entertaining. Like little prizes from the spin-the-wheel game that Smiles ran at Haly’s. Or used to run, anyway. Back when Ric’s parents were still alive and the world made a lick of sense.

He had a wadded fifty clenched in his fist when it emerged from his pocket. “Pay off my tab with the change, will you?” he asked as she handed him a mug of his preferred beer in exchange.

She laughed and slipped the bill in the battered cash drawer. “Gonna need a couple of those, sunshine — you drink more than a sailor mid-divorce.”

Ric raised his mug. “Hey, at least my self-medication is still cheaper than therapy.”

She grunted, unconvinced, while Ric rolled himself up off the barstool and sauntered over to the pool table. Two older gentlemen were finishing up a game, which had apparently gone very poorly for the skinnier fellow — Sam, one of the regulars, Ric realized as he drew closer. Sam was shaking his head in disgust as they all watched the eight-ball glide into the corner pocket without even brushing against the bumpers.

Ric rocked back on his heels, grinning.

“Hey, Sam. Bad luck, huh? Interested in putting some stakes on another round?”

The skinny regular snorted. 

“As if … this son of a bitch just cleaned me out for everything I had.”

“Oh?” Ric asked. An idea sprouted in his head. Sam was one of the richer patrons of Prodigal and often dropped by to escape his crazy wife (and drink away the promise of sobriety he’d made to her). If this stranger had won all Sam’s cash, and was willing to put it back on the table, Ric might actually be able to afford a night at a motel.

A shower sounded nice. So did a bed that wasn’t a molded taxi seat. “And would our mysterious victor be interested in a round of winner-takes-all with yours truly?” he asked, assuming his most charming smile, the one with the dimple on the right cheek.

The stranger turned around.

He wasn’t as old as Ric had thought at first glance. The loose waves of hair on his head were pure salt and pepper (mostly salt), as was his beard, but you still couldn’t look at him and say _old._ Huge muscles and wide shoulders were visible under his zippered jacket and a wicked black eyepatch covered his right eye socket. He carried himself the way the more experienced fighters in the underground ring did: like he’d gotten himself into plenty of fights and gotten himself out of them just fine. Maybe even more than just fine.

Ric found himself the subject of an intense up-and-down sweep from the single cold blue eye.

“You any good?” the stranger asked after a moment. His voice was a deep baritone, like the rumbling of an old engine.

Ric shrugged with false modesty and took the stick from Sam’s hands. “Good enough.”

“Really.”

It should have sounded like a question, but somehow it managed to come across as a demand.

Ric looked up while he ground the cube of chalk over the tip of the stick. “I play on occasion.”

Behind the counter, Bea shook her head quietly. It was true: Ric was at Prodigal more nights than not, and hustled games of pool often enough that few of the regulars were willing to play him for money anymore. But this guy was new, and didn’t know any better. Ric could already feel the weight of a good wad of cash in his pocket.

“Kick his ass,” Sam muttered as he slumped away to the counter to lick his wounds.

“So,” Ric said as he began to set up the rack. Across from him, the man companionably fished out the balls from the far pockets and rolled them across the felt. “Am I gonna get a name? Or shall we just play this whole game in brooding mystery?”

The man cocked his hip against the pool table and crossed his arms over his broad chest, simply watching. Somehow, the fabric of his jacket didn’t split under the impressive bulge of his biceps. He took a long sip from his beer without breaking his stare. It felt a bit like making eye contact with a tiger crouched over its kill. “Slade.”

“Ooh. I like that. Sounds badass. I’m Ric.” He paused. “Or Gray, Grayson, Richard, Dick … whatever sounds good.”

Slade grunted. “Usually people stick to one.”

Ric grinned and sent him a wink while he bent over the table and lined up his first shot. “Guess I’m just special, then.”

Intentionally, he pulled his strength. The balls scattered, but not very far. Ric pretended to wince, shaking his head. “Ouch. Not my best break. Still warming up.” He stepped back to give Slade room. “Hey, so were you actually interested in winner-takes-all? We like a bit of risk here at Prodigal.”

Slade quirked his lips in a brief smile and Ric had the odd feeling the man knew exactly what he was up to. “Sure. Why not.” He removed a stack of crinkled bills from his pocket — Sam’s money — and laid it on a nearby table in plain view. 

Ric tried not to act like he cared. “Well all right then. I like your style." He gestured. "Your shot.”

Slade was a tall man; he ate up the distance around the table in just a few strides and lined up his shot in one smooth motion. Ric had a sudden flash of a sniper gazing down the scope of his weapon. Maybe it was just something about the practiced set to his shoulders.

With perfect precision, Slade sank the orange stripe in the corner pocket. Then he went on to sink two more stripes, easy as breathing. They were good, clean shots. No fancy tricks, but the short time he took to set up each spoke of great skill. It was easy to see how outclassed Sam had been.

Despite himself, Ric actually sat up and began to watch the game more closely. Some people radiated a charisma that demanded that kind of careful attention. Without a doubt, Slade was one of those individuals — when he moved, it was almost hard to look away.

After the third ball had gone in, Slade paused, then deliberately missed the next. He stepped back from the table and gestured to Ric with his cue stick. “Figured I better let you get a shot in before I wrap this up.”

Ric was surprised into laughing. “Okay, if that’s how it’s gonna be.” He clucked his tongue. “And here I was, about to go easy on you. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

True to his word, he sank three solids before the second hand finished its trip around the face of the clock that Bea had hung up on a nail on the adjacent wall. He cut a glance towards Slade while lining up his fourth. Sometimes people who were good at pool got pissed off when they ran into someone better. Ric had gotten into his fair share of scuffles with hotheads nursing a bruised ego. But Slade didn’t look bothered. In fact, he almost looked bored.

It made Ric’s blood go warm. Instead of the straightforward shot he’d been planning, he dipped the stick so that it popped the cue ball over one of Slade’s stripes, hit the bumper, and banked into the green solid — ever so gently nudging it into the pocket. Ric threw out his hands and dipped into a short bow.

“Impressed yet?” he asked.

Slade gave him another one of those humorless smiles over the rim of his mug. “By cheap trick shots? No. Not impressed yet.” His eye bore into Ric like a drill. “But I could be.”

There was a certain tone every man’s words assumed when they were hitting on someone. Ric wasn’t dense enough to think it could never be aimed at himself ... just surprised to hear it from the mouth of this muscular figure. The feeling passed quickly enough. After all, people (both guys and girls) tried to swat his ass on a near-daily basis while walking the streets of Blüdhaven. Casual harassment was just another endearing attribute of the city’s character.

“Don’t swing that way, sorry,” Ric apologized. “Could I interest you in holding hands and long walks on the beach instead?”

Slade’s smile lengthened into something shark-like. Slowly, he opened his wallet and drew out a thick stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills to lay on the table, next to Sam’s sad lump of tens and twenties. “That’s four grand on the table. I thought you appreciated high stakes?”

Ric was speechless.

Behind the bar, Bea burst into laughter. “Oh, damn, Ric! You gotta be the most expensive piece of ass this side of town. Humor the poor man.”

“I feel like I’m the poor man in this situation,” Ric muttered, reluctantly fighting back a grin. The denial had been a reflexive response, but now that he thought about it, what did he really know about his preferences? He knew he thought that Babs chick was smoking (which was unfortunate, considering she belonged to a crazy superhero cult), and Bea was certainly easy on the eyes. But he’d never caught himself looking twice at any guy. Or had he? He remembered thinking a few days ago that the cashier at his favorite bodega was handsome, but, well — he’d also been drunk at the time.

He perked up at the thought. 

Drinks, that’s what he was missing. His mug was already empty.

He blamed his ensuing recklessness on the alcohol.

“All right then, I’m open-minded. But!” he stuck up his pointer finger and waggled it, “This mug is gonna have to stay filled the whole game so that I don’t remember how this thing ended come morning.”

Slade leaned in, both hands planted on the pool table. No more bored expressions — he was definitely grinning now. “I’ll keep your cup filled, kid, but I promise: you’re going to remember tonight when all’s said and done.” Insinuation lay thick over his words, heavy and sticky like molasses.

The hairs on Ric’s arms fluffed up as an unexpected sizzle skittered down his spine. He disguised his reaction behind a sip of beer.

Maybe he wasn’t as straight as he’d thought, after all.

The atmosphere changed tangibly after that. Whatever casual relationship they’d built evaporated like water on a hot pan. Ric found himself pulling out the fanciest trick shots he knew, and then, when those ran out, some he invented on the fly. It wasn’t enough to win, after all: he had to win and look damn good doing it. Really make the guy regret dangling such a foolish cash prize over his head and assuming he could sweep Ric into his bed without a fight.

Except, Slade was going all in now, too — no more mocking intentional misses. And true to his promise, he called Bea over with a refill every time Ric’s mug emptied, which happened faster and faster as Slade made every single shot.

Even more frustrating than Slade’s sniper-like prowess, now that the suggestion had been put in Ric’s head, was the way he couldn’t stop lewd images from flashing over his mind’s eye: him, laid out in a bed, twisted up in the sheets while Slade crouched over him. Slade, pressing on his head with one hand to push him down to his knees while he unzipped his jeans with the other. What Slade might taste like. The shock that Ric even _wanted_ to know what he tasted like. It was like getting sucker-punched in the gut with lust.

Ric hadn’t even known he could want it this bad. When you lost time frequently and dissociated more often than not, it was hard to feel comfortable enough to escalate flirtations into something heavier. Presumably, the last time he had slept with someone had been before the bullet.

Distracted by these thoughts, he made a critical error in the angle of his next shot. It was all over from there as Slade cleaned house like he’d been born with a cue stick in hand.

“I win,” he stated casually, almost an afterthought as he finished off the last of his own drink.

“Damn,” Bea said, leaning over the bar. _“Damn.”_ Her eyes were round with shock. Clearly, she’d expected Ric to rustle up a win like he always had. Ric had expected it himself. Now that it was over, he almost couldn’t believe how easy Slade had made it look.

While he struggled to think of something to say, Slade scooped up Ric’s jacket from where it had been thrown over the back of a chair. Two large steps brought him way inside Ric’s space. He was nearly half a foot taller, and Ric had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact as Slade draped the coat around his shoulders.

“Not getting cold feet, I hope?” Slade murmured. This close, Ric felt Slade’s low voice throttle in his chest like the purr of a big cat. His large hand brushed against Ric’s heated flank as he straightened out the garment’s fit, still looming in Ric’s space.

“I’ve never had cold feet a day in my life,” Ric said, shrugging into the sleeves. He couldn’t help smiling a little bitterly. “Not that I could remember, anyway. You got a place in mind?” 

A few patrons in the bar hooted and one of the girls giggled, “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

Slade smiled down at him, eye glittering.

"As a matter of fact, I'm in town on business for a few days. Why don't we head to my hotel?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much work due tomorrow that I ignored in favor of writing this. *Kisses fingers* Enjoy.

The good-natured ribbing from the other patrons followed the pair out of the bar as Slade led the way into the cool night air, Ric following just a half-step behind. 

_Am I really doing this?_ he wondered to himself, watching the broad expanse of Slade’s back sway with each step. The buzz from the alcohol was doing a good job soothing away the incredulous doubts that had begun to creep in, but he couldn’t help feeling a little on edge. 

“It’s not far,” Slade said over his shoulder. “I can hail us a cab.” 

Ric smirked and retrieved his keys from his pocket. The tag whistled as it spun around his index finger. “Aren’t you in luck tonight? I happen to be the finest taxi driver this city’s ever seen.” 

“Aren’t you a bit drunk?” Slade asked mildly. 

Ric laughed. “Please, I could drive through Blüdhaven blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. A few beers isn’t even enough to make me wobbly.” 

He guided them to the curb where his taxi cab was parked and popped open the passenger door. 

“I hope you won’t run the meter for this,” Slade deadpanned as he slid into the seat. He was large enough that the seat barely fit him. Ric was keenly aware of the slight groaning in the pleather when his weight settled. 

Ric started up the taxi, pointedly avoiding the meter. Whatever cologne Slade wore was subtle, but spicy — it screamed _male!_ Ric’s mind tried to fast-forward a few hours into the night and balked at the unfamiliar terrain. 

“Not that you couldn’t afford it — clearly — but I’ve decided to go pro bono tonight.” 

“My, what a saint,” Slade said. “Is four grand all it takes to earn some charity these days?” 

Ric flashed him a charming smile, because why the hell not? What did it matter if he decided to go home with a guy he’d just met at the bar? It was his life. Blank slate, new start, all that jazz. He wouldn’t learn what he liked if he never tried new experiences.

“Well, that and the promise of other things,” he insinuated, half-surprised at his own daring. 

“Mm,” Slade said. “That does tend to help matters.” 

Taxi drivers in Blüdhaven were notorious for taking the most circuitous route available to keep the meter running, through all sorts of back alleys and traffic-bogged streets. Ric prided himself on being morally distinct from the rest. Any longer route he took was simply a consequence of unfamiliarity with Blüdhaven's geography: an unfamiliarity that diminished with each passing day as he explored the city. 

Tonight, he was especially direct. After Slade had given him the address to a nice four-star hotel, he took them the fastest way he knew. 

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Slade asked as Ric smoothly swerved around a slower-moving vehicle in their lane. The car’s irritated honks faded behind them as Ric kept his foot on the gas. 

“Give me some leeway,” Ric said with a faux sense of ease. He licked his lips. “This is all a bit new for me. I’m not usually one to go home with strangers from bars.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to wink at Slade. “Still no cold feet, though, mind you.” 

“I’d be more surprised if you were foolish enough to let your guard down,” Slade commented. “Blüdhaven isn’t a kind place.” 

Blood bleached out of Ric’s knuckles as his grip on the wheel went tense. The scar on the side of his head throbbed. “No. It isn’t.” 

“Then why do you stay?” Slade asked. 

Ric shrugged, eased the cab down a tight one-way. “I don’t know. This city… it took a lot from me. I guess I keep thinking, maybe if I stick around long enough, I’ll understand why.” 

“Does this have anything to do with the scar?” 

Ric touched it self-consciously. As usual, the scar felt huge and ugly to his questing fingertips. He could have grown his hair out long ago to hide it, but always found himself reaching for the razor when it passed a certain length. Maybe if he pretended that the scar didn’t bother him, it would lose its significance and eventually take its place as just another one of the inexplicable scars that covered his body. 

“Yeah. Got shot in the head a while back. Recovery was terrible. The bullet took a lot of my memory along with almost 40 percent of my blood volume and a few inches of my scalp.” 

“Damn,” Slade said, whistling. “I’m very surprised you’re not dead.” 

“Me too,” said Ric ruefully. He paused, then added, “But in a way, it’s almost been sort of a blessing. Not many people get to start their life again with a completely blank slate. I get to choose my own responsibilities, do the things I want without feeling bad about it.” Another pause. “Like going home with strangers.” 

“Well then, cheers to your brain damage,” Slade said wryly. He pointed towards a stretch of available curb outside a tall building. “Pull up here.” 

Ric did as requested, parallel parking with ease. In this neighborhood, the air outside the taxi smelled significantly better than it did around Prodigal. Ric liked to joke that he could navigate back and forth between Blüdhaven’s richer and poorer districts just by smell alone. 

Inside the lobby, the decor was clean and tasteful. An attractive woman behind the counter greeted them cheerfully as they headed for the elevators. Ric played with the hole near the hem of his t-shirt, trying to collect his nerves while they waited for the carriage. 

“So, you never mentioned what business you were here in town for,” he pointed out as the doors pinged open. Inside, Slade hit the button for the top floor and leaned back. 

“I’m a contractor,” he said simply. 

As Ric drew in a breath to ask what industry, Slade turned around and pushed Ric up against the wall with one firm shove.

 _Aw shit,_ Ric thought, preparing to retaliate — but all thought went up in a crackle of smoke when Slade shoved his thigh between Ric’s legs and pressed. Both of his hands caught Ric’s as they flew up and pinned them back down against the wall. His grip was inescapable without being painful. 

“Oh,” Ric gasped. The handrail dug into his lower back, but it barely even registered against the bright spark of pleasure as Slade rutted his muscular thigh back and forth against his groin. “Shit, um — _okay_ , starting now, all right.” Even through his jeans and underwear, the friction was enough to send his blood rushing south. Heat flooded his face as the arousal that had been simmering on the back-burner blazed into full flame. Without meaning to, he canted his hips up and inched his legs further apart. At the next push, the friction hit just right over the seam of his jeans and the breath stuttered in his chest. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Slade leaned down to murmur. His breath puffed hot over the delicate curve of Ric’s ear. Another movement of his thigh nearly made Ric swallow his tongue. “I got your number, kid.” 

The elevator doors pinged open and Slade pulled back as suddenly as he’d closed in, leaving Ric breathless with his heart racing. It wasn’t fair that Slade could smirk and stroll into the hallway as though they hadn’t been sealed against each other like a wet t-shirt on skin just a moment earlier. Ric shook his head to clear the daze and followed after. 

“Do you do this often?” Ric called after him, keeping his voice low so as to avoid bothering the other residents. Slade swiped his keycard to unlock his room and pushed the door open. 

“What, take home pretty boys in bars?” 

Ric wondered if he should be offended at ‘pretty,’ then decided it wasn’t worth an argument in the face of an impending orgasm. 

“I guess.” 

Slade turned around as he shedded his jacket and tossed the keycard on the counter with perfect aim. “Not generally.” His grin was faintly patronizing. “Does that make you feel special?” 

Ric frowned. For some reason, Slade’s composed demeanor was starting to rub the wrong way. He acted as though he knew something Ric didn’t — as though he knew Ric better than himself. It made Ric want to do something unexpected to throw him off, maybe even something dangerous. 

“Make yourself comfortable while I change,” Slade said, starting towards the entrance to the attached bedroom. Ric pounced before he could take more than one step. 

In the fighting ring, Ric had learned to empty his mind and let his body act and react to the threat of violence. It was easier if he didn’t try to think through what each of his limbs should be doing. His body already knew what to do — his mind only got in the way. 

He followed the same strategy here, letting his subconscious dictate his movement. His right hand jabbed firmly at Slade’s shoulder to throw it forward and put him off-balance while he snaked his foot around Slade’s and yanked. Surprised, the man went down to the floor, Ric settling on top of him immediately. 

Grinning, Ric said, “Weren’t expecting that, were — _whoa!”_

In a dizzying blur of movement, suddenly their positions were reversed, with Ric’s face planted in the well-vacuumed carpet and Slade’s considerable weight pinning his lower back to the floor. 

“That was a good judo throw,” Slade said, nonplussed. “Simple, but effective. Too bad you left yourself wide open afterwards. Never put yourself in close quarters with an enemy if you’re not ready to execute the finishing blow.” 

Ric turned his head to spit out carpet fibres. “Enemy? Is that what I am? Seems a bit dramatic.” 

Slade chuckled. “All’s fair in love and war.” 

Ric might have rolled his eyes, but right then a pair of lips began doing awful, wonderful things to the exposed skin of his neck. He shivered and went still. The beard hair was a new sensation, but not an unwelcome one. His arousal began to build again. 

Slade’s hips flexed in a small movement. Ric felt the man’s beginning hardness press against the seat of his jeans. Curious, he tipped his hips up and held them there. Slade made a small noise deep in his throat, rolling against him harder in slow, strong pushes. Ric put his head down and panted, letting the thrusts come, aching for each small burst of friction as they pushed his groin into the carpet. 

After a few more of these, Slade’s weight disappeared and Ric turned himself over on his elbows. 

Slade jerked his head towards the doorway. “Bedroom. If I’m gonna pay a ludicrous amount of money for a few nights here, I might as well make good use of the sheets’ thread count.” 

Ric rolled himself all the way up to standing with an athletic clench of his abdomen muscles. “Now that’s a plan I can get behind.” 

As they crossed the threshold to the bedroom, Ric noticed an odd shape distorting the pull of the fabric of Slade’s t-shirt over his lower back. Impulsively, he stepped forward to lift the hem. In addition to an impressive swath of muscled back, there was also a Glock 17 tucked in the waistband of his pants. 

“Concealed carrying?” Ric asked lightly. 

Slade took the gun from his waistline and removed the loaded mag. He handled the pistol with the quick, efficient movements of someone who had been comfortable with guns for a very long time. “Can’t be too careful these days.” 

“I suppose,” Ric said. 

Slade’s lips quirked. He set the gun and magazine down on the nightstand, then stepped in close to slide a hand up Ric’s back. “Did I frighten you?” 

“Please,” Ric scoffed, letting himself be directed to the king-sized bed in a neat two-step. “In Blüdhaven, the only things more common than guns are the cockroaches.” The back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he set a hand down to steady himself.

“Touché,” Slade said, and effortlessly pushed him down into the soft bedspread. “Now, can we focus on the matter at hand?” 

“But this was turning into such a good conversation about gun control… ” Ric teased. Slade shut him up with a kiss. 

It was very unlike kissing a woman for a few reasons. For one thing, the beard hair. Second, the whiff of Slade’s spicy cologne that Ric caught every time he breathed in through his nose. And the hand that slid between the bed and the back of Ric’s head was certainly not lady-sized. 

And yet, Ric was astonished to learn that none of those were turn-offs. 

Another discovery: damn, Slade could _kiss_. 

Granted, Ric couldn’t remember kissing very many people before, but Slade was certainly setting the bar high for future encounters. He caught Ric’s bottom lip in between his teeth and kneaded while introducing his tongue to the inside of Ric’s mouth. The skin around Ric’s lips felt oddly sensitive to the light prickle of Slade’s beard. He tasted like beer. 

“Mm,” Ric groaned. His legs fell open, inviting Slade to inch closer. 

They slid together into a dirty grind from there, easy as breathing. Ric laced his hands together behind Slade’s neck, fighting to keep his body relaxed. For fuck’s sake, they hadn’t even gotten their clothes off yet and he already felt better. It was like the kissing and heavy petting had awoken something in him that had been sleeping for months: a black hole, a bone-deep hunger for someone else’s bare skin against his. The closeness, the intimacy of it. He wanted it so strongly it turned his breathing ragged and made his fingers tremble like an addict. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand the clothing that acted as barriers between them. 

“Shirt,” he tore himself away long enough to say. A particularly well-aligned thrust made his head tip back into the sheets and his mouth drop open. _“Un_ , _please_.” 

“Ooh, I like the manners,” Slade said. He pressed an approving kiss to Ric’s bared throat. _“Very_ nice.” He separated himself long enough to shed his shirt and undo his belt buckle one-handed, then bent to his task once more. Ric wriggled until he could free a hand to pull his own shirt over his head. The momentary break in their kiss was almost unbearable, but at least now he could skim both hands appreciatively over the older man’s flanks and enjoy the dry warmth of skin. 

“Wanted to do this since I first saw you in that bar,” Slade murmured, sucking a trail of purple hickeys down Ric’s throat to his collarbone. “Peacocking around like you were hot shit. You needed someone to fuck the ego right out of you, didn’t you?”

The confession thrilled Ric. While Slade had been so aloof in those first few minutes of knowing each other, had he been imagining this exact scenario? The idea was flattering. He clutched Slade closer and bit his lip to stifle the sounds that wanted to slip free. 

“Here — let me —” he pushed Slade back with his forearm to gain some distance and slid down until he could reach into Slade’s loosened pants. His hand closed around Slade’s hot length and pulled it free. Then his eyebrows jumped up in shock.

“Damn,” Ric said, staring in awe at the generously sized cock in his hands. “ _Fuck_ , you didn’t tell me you had a _barge pole_ in your pants. There’s no way you’re putting that thing inside me.” Even as he spoke, he began to stroke it slowly. Without memories of prior experiences to back him up, he soon resorted to the same technique he liked on himself: quick pulls, all the way up the flushed shaft to the generous mushroom-shaped head, then back down to the base. He must have been doing something right, because a hairline crack appeared in Slade’s composure as he momentarily buckled to one elbow. 

Through gritted teeth, Slade said, “We don’t have to, you know.” A smirk flickered across his face, there and gone again. “In fact, I’ve wanted to see how my dick would look between your lips for a while now.” His hips jumped forward into Ric’s hands at a particularly tight squeeze. “Ah, finally — shut you up a little.” 

Ric laughed breathlessly, enraptured by the filthy sounds as he sped up his wrist. “You wouldn’t want that. I don’t know the first thing about sucking dick. I’ve never slept with a guy before.” 

Slade buried his face in Dick’s shoulder. “Is that so?” he asked. He sounded like he was smiling. “I can guide you.” 

Ric deliberated. “No thanks,” he said at last. “That’s… a bit out of my comfort zone for now.” 

Slade knocked Ric’s hand off his dick and yanked Ric’s pants down his hips. 

“Lesson one,” he said, and captured Ric’s cock in a firm grip. “This is how you give someone a handjob.” 

“I just said —” Ric started, then broke off with a ragged moan. Slade had pinned his hips to the bed with one hand while jacking him tight and slow in the other. Ric’s foot kicked helplessly. On his back like this, there wasn’t enough leverage to move the way he wanted to. He had no choice but to lay there and let Slade play him like a fiddle, toes flexing. “ _Ah_ , okay, okay, _shit,_ don’t stop, don’t stop!”

In answer, Slade bit his nipple. Ric’s back arced as far up off the sheets as he was capable of with his limited movement.

 _“Ah!”_

“Sensitive,” Slade murmured, tracing his tongue around the abused peak. Wet warmth surged in to replace the fading pulse of pain. In his hands, Ric’s length was almost throbbing. “I thought so.” 

Overwhelmed, Ric dug his nails punishingly into Slade’s back. “You’re evil,” he panted. 

Slade laughed and effortlessly manhandled Ric up to the pillows at the bed’s headboard. “To some, maybe.”

He dipped down for another kiss. Ric’s nails gentled in the skin of his back. It was so, so good, to be held like this, kissed like this. It grounded him in the moment and gave reassurance that this was real, that Ric wasn’t in the midst of one of his surreal nightmares full of people he wouldn’t remember come waking. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to fuck you?” Slade murmured into his ear. His hand resumed its former pace, the one that melted Ric to a twitchy puddle in seconds. “I promise, I’d go slow … open you up on my fingers, take as long as you like, until you were begging me to go faster.” He kissed Ric’s ear. It was gentle, but there was a hint of teeth behind it. “And then I would, I’d go as fast as you wanted. Take you right over the edge and then keep going, even when you’re oversensitive and squirming on my cock.” 

It was _cheating_ , is what it was, Ric decided. No one should ever be allowed to say such filthy things in such a gravelly baritone. It simply wasn’t fair. 

“You’re — very convincing,” Ric panted, stalling for time. 

“It’s your call,” Slade said. Ric felt the shrug move through his massive shoulders like a wave. He let go of Ric’s cock and fell back on his knees. “I won’t force you to do something that makes you nervous.” 

“Bastard, I’m not nervous,” Ric snapped without any real heat. His entire body felt like it had liquefied on the expensive sheets. Aside from punch-drunk lust, the only emotion he could muster with any strength was a sense of remorse that he’d lost Slade’s talented hands on his dick. “All right, fuck, just do it, don’t mess around.” 

He worked at himself while watching Slade root around in the nightstand for a bottle of lubricant and a strip of condoms. 

“This might feel weird at first,” Slade warned, coating two fingers generously and rubbing them together to warm up the lube. 

Ric rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s going to feel weird, you’re putting fingers up my ass.” He yelped when Slade swatted his thigh with sticky fingers. 

“Mouthy,” the older man scolded. “I liked it better when you were begging so sweetly for me.” 

Ric threw his arm over his eyes to hide his scarlet face. “Maybe if you ever _got_ on with things.” 

It did feel weird, but not for very long. Slade spent a long time simply massaging the area, wandering up and down his perineum as he pleased while occasionally pausing to pump Ric’s cock with steady strokes. Whenever his fingers got too dry, he went back for more lube. 

“You’re opening up for me,” Slade commented after a few minutes, obviously pleased. He turned his head and bit lightly over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. “Can you feel it?” 

Ric could. He was well aware of everything south of his waist loosening up while Slade kept his massage going. When Slade sank one finger in him up to the knuckle, he barely felt it. 

“What are you doing?” Ric asked raggedly, confused while Slade felt around. 

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” Slade said, then went, “Ah, here we go,” as he curled his finger, stroking with firm pressure. 

“Wha — ah!” Ric couldn’t stop the moan that tore its way free of his chest. The sensation was like a buildup of electric pressure in the root of his cock. Its intensity increased so fast he could barely control the way his legs kicked off the bed. 

Slade repeated the motion a few more times, then added another finger. In seconds, Ric was gasping for breath. Overwhelmed, he turned and bit into the pillow, clenching the drool-soaked fabric between his teeth as a makeshift gag. 

“Now that’s a lovely sight,” Slade said with relish. 

Ric released the pillow long enough to batter at his shoulder. “Just hurry up, _please,_ for the love of God.” 

“As the princess commands,” Slade chuckled. He removed his fingers and dribbled a generous amount of lube over his dick. Then he fit both of his hands in the sweaty crook of Ric’s legs and pushed up until his kneecaps were almost touching his ears. Ric dig his heels into Slade’s muscled shoulders and hauled him closer. 

Without any further ado, Slade guided his cock to Ric’s relaxed hole and pushed. His entrance was slow, but unstoppable; his hips didn’t stop until they were flush against Ric’s ass. Ric writhed and clenched handfuls of the sheets. 

_“Ah, shit, ah,”_ he chanted, muffled by the pillow. He was so full — surely any second now he would split open and all the disjointed memories inside his broken head would go spilling across the floor. Slade hiked him closer and put his head down, sliding back until just the tip was left inside. Then he started again — pushing in all the way until Ric’s eyes bugged in their sockets. Then the slow drag out, each movement sliding over that electric spot that made sparks flare across the back of Ric’s eyelids. 

“Come on, kid, move with me,” Slade panted. 

Ric had to focus with all his strength to do so, but he managed to raise his hips to meet the next instroke. Slade hissed between his teeth and snapped his hips faster, enough that Ric yelped from the force. After a few more thrusts, they fell into a rhythm together. Slade’s thrusts were so strong that they scooted Ric up the bed until the crown of his head was knocking into the headboard. Ric gripped onto it to brace himself against each push. 

Even as the minutes trickled by, Slade didn’t seem to tire. The only clue to his exertion was the shine of sweat at his temples. 

“Slade — I can’t — I need,” Ric gasped, agonized as he teetered on the edge. 

“I know,” Slade answered. “Let me —” he snaked a hand in between their bodies and gripped Ric’s cock again. Every muscle in Ric’s body tightened up like a coil. The dual sensations were simply too much to handle. It only took a few lightning-fast pulls before his eyes rolled up in his head and he went hurtling over the cliff. It was the first orgasm he’d had with another person since he could last remember, and it was so strong it almost made him black out. Trapped in seemingly endless waves of sucking pleasure, he dug his fingernails into Slade’s back until they broke the skin and shook as though caught in a seizure. Slade fucked him all the way through it, groaning as Ric clenched and relaxed helplessly around his dick. 

When it finally ended, Ric’s legs were shaking with exertion. Distantly, he felt a bloom of muted warmth as Slade’s release was caught by the condom. He cupped the back of the older man’s head while he endured his own orgasm, until at last Slade’s body also relaxed and he rolled off the younger man to collapse on the mattress. 

Ric couldn’t speak for a few minutes, forced to concentrate on gulping air into his starving lungs.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” he said when he’d finally caught his breath. He started laughing. “I’ve never been so happy to lose a game of pool in my life.” 

Slade grunted into the pillow. “Even after an orgasm like that, you’re still chattering away. I’m almost impressed.” 

Ric grinned, his good mood unbothered. An invisible weight he’d been hauling around unnoticed had vanished from his shoulders; he was more at ease than he could ever remember feeling since waking up high off his rocker on painkillers in a Gotham City Hospital bed. He stretched his toes to ease the stiffness in his calves and hamstrings, luxuriating in the soreness. 

When they’d finished catching their breaths, Slade pushed himself up off the bed and tugged Ric to the edge of the mattress by his ankle, ignoring his complaints. 

“Come on. We both desperately need a shower.” 

He was right — Ric grimaced at the slick feeling of lube that had gotten everywhere. 

They took advantage of the hotel’s hot water tank, lingering in the deluge until they’d recovered enough for a second round. Ric came for the second time that night braced up against the slippery tiles, keening into his elbow while Slade pushed his thighs wider for better angles. 

After that, he could barely keep his eyes open. Biddable with wrung-out pleasure, he allowed Slade to roughly towel-dry his hair and bundle him back into his boxers while he changed the bedding. 

Usually, Ric lay awake staring up at whatever ceiling he’d found shelter under for the night, haunted by all the doubts and fears he pushed away in the daytime.

Tonight, sleep took him seconds after his cheek hit the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added another chapter for an upcoming epilogue, so stay tuned.
> 
> Btw please do not drink and drive, Ric is a terrible role model.
> 
> Next chapter: Babs confronts Ric on his questionable choices (again).

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had the chance to write for fun in a long while, but I might as well be productive while coronavirus shuts my college down and generally screws with my graduation, eh?
> 
> I'm on tumblr [here](https://ahzielwrites.tumblr.com/).


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